Page 57

Cora pointed with her free hand toward Colibri’s body, to the place a human might assume to be her head. “That’s her bell. It’s her stomach, basically. That’s where she holds the gases she eats. Behind that”—Cora’s finger traced along the windowpane, following the mottled bulk beyond—“that’s her thorax, which is where most of her other organs are. Those little pits you see all over are called ocelli. They’re not eyes, exactly, but . . . they’re not not eyes.”

“She can tell light from dark,” Signy said, voicing what she knew. This sort of inventorying was likewise helpful. Anatomy was a comfort. Anatomy was a language she could speak.

“Yeah,” Cora said. “And she can detect different wavelengths. It’s not the same as the way we see, but it’s still seeing of a sort. It’s both not as good and way better, y’know?” She pointed at a wreath of open-ended sacs that encircled the thorax. “Those are her gas bags. She shifts some of what she eats into those before she digests it, so she can spit it out and scoot herself around small distances. And there’s a bit more to her body behind all of that, but it’s covered by her sail right now.”

Signy looked at the sail—cartilaginous webbed quills folded flat along Colibri’s sides, stretching far past the end of her body. Signy could see the thick membranes that lay in between the rib-like growths, tucked like compressed fabric. “And those move like . . . ?” She made a motion with her free hand, first balling her hand tight, then splaying her fingers out to all sides. She knew the answer, but she asked the question anyway.

“Yep,” Cora said. “Pops out like an emergency tent.”

Behind the window, Colibri—what was the right word? Flew? Swam? Drifted?—Colibri moved toward a series of large pipes attached to equally large tanks. Signy started to ask what they were, but her words shriveled as the rorqual’s bell split laterally down the middle, revealing a yawning gap. There was no tongue, no teeth. Just an opening into a place that looked eerily similar to the outside of her. Signy thought of a sock turned inside out—a little different in texture, but not much.

“That’s her mouth,” Cora said reassuringly. “That’s just her mouth.”

Signy watched as Colibri closed her mouth around the end of one of the pipes. The rorqual’s bell rippled and expanded. A few wisps drifted away, scattering in the vacuum. Absurd as the comparison was, Signy thought of the way Sam sometimes vaped while she doctored Signy’s computer, little puffs leaking out around her head.

“She’s eating,” Cora explained. “Havin’ a snack.” She pointed at each of the tanks with her right hand. Her left remained locked with Signy’s; her grasp was steady and warm. “Helium, methane, carbon dioxide, ammonia, and water vapor. Technically speaking, she’s allowed to eat whatever mix she likes, but she likes ammonia a little too much, so she gets less of that in her tank these days. She’s sulky about it, but she can deal.”

The possibility of a smile tugged at Signy’s cheeks. “Why does she like ammonia?”

Cora grinned. “Why do we like sugar?” she said. “It tastes good, to her. It feels good. But she needs a balanced diet, so, them’s the breaks.”

Signy wondered if she should let go of Cora’s hand, but it felt so nice. Even if her heart hadn’t been trying to kick its way out of her chest, it would’ve felt so nice. “What did you do,” she asked, “the first time you saw one?”

“Oh, I freaked out,” Cora said, matter-of-fact. “Fully freaked out. I sobbed. Your first time is so much to process. And lemme tell you, crying in micrograv sucks, so, you’re doing really great.”

Colibri continued to gulp her vaporous snack, moving from the carbon dioxide to ammonia. She only closed her mouth around the pipe for a second before letting go. Nothing about the way the rorqual moved was recognizable, yet all the same, Signy could’ve sworn Colibri looked frustrated.

“See?” Cora said, laughing. “She wants the good shit.”

Signy’s smile nudged its way out, cautiously. “Is that tank empty?”

“Yep. She’s had all she’s gonna get today.”

“Poor thing,” Signy said, much as she would about a kid who wasn’t allowed a second bowl of pudding. She stepped out of herself and considered that response. The sentiment had come naturally, despite how bewildered she was. Perhaps some part of her could empathize with this thing after all. Perhaps some part of her—some older part, some muscle she’d never flexed—knew how to relate to animals. A funny thought, that.

“So what do you say?” There was such attentiveness in Cora’s tone, ever so easy. She gave Signy’s hand an encouraging squeeze. “Would you like to say hi?”

Interstitial

The helmet wasn’t anything like the chunky protective gear Signy had pictured. Rather, it was a sleek metal cap that covered Cora’s scalp from forehead to nape. The construction was surprisingly thin, and the inside was covered with nodes that Signy glimpsed for only a moment before Cora slipped the thing on.

“How does it work?” Signy asked as Cora began to flip switches on the control panel at the base of the window.

Cora pointed at the pen, toward the huge metal slats that kept Colibri contained. “You see those?”

“The . . . gate?”

“No, attached to the gate and the walls.” Cora gestured at a series of large, flat panels. “Those are pheromone sensors. Do you know how rorquals communicate?”

“Yes, that much I know.”

“Cool. So, when I’m in the saddle—”

Signy pointed at a small spacecraft secured to the top of the pen. “That’s the saddle?” she asked.

“Yep,” Cora confirmed. “You know the basics of it?”

“I think so,” Signy said. Out in open space, the helmet talked to the saddle, which talked to the sensors that picked up the pheromones. And that meant . . . “The helmet you’re wearing now talks to the sensors in her pen.”